He fell in love first; I followed. We’ll celebrate 20 years of marriage in August.

The enemy hates what marriage represents—the devoted covenant of love our groom, Jesus, keeps with the whole Church, His bride. Living in covenant as a husband and wife blazes white-hot against the ashen backdrop of popular culture.

What do we do when we’re tempted to run or hide from covenant because of pain?

Here I share the impetus behind CLEAN HOUSE; when life took an unexpected turn, and suddenly the old tools for living quit working.

During this upside-down time, marriage became a mirror revealing hidden sin, and that’s what scared me.

It had only been three months since our world fell apart and we were still in shock. How do we get back on the same page when the whole book burnt up in our faces?

When He said the Big Apple, I was fairly sure He didn’t mean big suburbia, yet there we were and not sure of anything. 

The contents of our life still in Brooklyn, New York; our vehicle in Michigan. The three of us, husband, wife and two-year-old daughter) flew to Phoenix planning to spend Thanksgiving week with the family and reshoot NYC . . . it was now February.

No jobs, no friends, no vehicles, no ideas; trying to save our pile of money for an unknown future. Our conversations weren’t very helpful or encouraging.

Grandma offered to watch Liberty so Marc and I could go on a Valentine date. Here’s the story of that night . . .

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February 2012

In a car on a cliff.

I stare vacantly through the windshield at the tiny lights twinkling in the city below. He drove us up into the mountains, maybe for the spectacular view, more likely to make my escape impossible. For the first time in months, I’m in real danger . . . my husband brought me here to have an honest conversation about what happened—to ask me how I’m feeling.  

God, please get me out of here.

One clammy hand in my lap, the other fidgeting with the door handle, I envision a dramatic exit with an all-night hike, lit by my trusty phone flashlight (I just have to wait for it to charge).

On second thought, I’ll never make it past the entitled lion waiting to catch me outside my territory (with his posse of singing hyenas).  

Playing games.

I guess it’s only fair Marc took me away from the house to talk. Maybe avoiding him these last few weeks was rude, but he can’t leave it alone. Isn’t it obvious I don’t want to talk about it?  I don’t have answers to his questions.  I don’t know what to say.

More accurately, I’m afraid of the words that might come out of my mouth. My inner voice is downright nasty these days. I value an effectively used swear-word as much as the next gal, but dropping a whole payload of assorted-lettered bombs I’ve been storing up would just be overkill.

I have to keep my mouth shut.

Unlike me (staring out the window), Marc looks at me as he continues sharing his feelings. Instead of listening, I feel like a spy recording enemy transmissions.

Confirming the age-old suspicions of men, I’m making mental notes and planning a future attack as if his words are white Battleship pegs exposing target areas.

Now that we’ve acknowledged our Brooklyn or Bust move was, indeed, a BUST, our different coping styles are airing out like laundry in the Bronx.

About six seconds after touching down in Phoenix, Marc went to work digging for answers; he’s always been a gifted troubleshooter. Either he’s head-down reading, or talking and asking questions.

I’m mostly head-down too . . . on a pillow . . . napping.

Marc wonders where we will go from here; I wonder how much ‘Michael Scott’ I can stomach in one sitting.

Marc asks his questions and talks out his feelings; I write a lot.

Two can play at this game.

‘Silent treatment’, is an effective war-tactic lovingly (and quietly) passed down from previous generations. It’s a versatile weapon of self-protection and comes in handy when I need to control a situation that feels out of my control.

The dreaded moment comes. “How are you doing?” he says. Since I’ve already initiated ‘silent treatment’, I wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t.

Why is he not speaking? Silence doesn’t bother me, but this must be killing him!

I’ll wait another few minutes.

No, this is different. He hasn’t even re-stated the question. He also hasn’t moved a muscle. Don’t guys need to occasionally ‘re-adjust’?

I re-adjust.

Why doesn’t he talk? Why is he doing this to me? If he’s trying to strong-arm me into sharing, it won’t work. I’m fine if we sit here all night.

Did he forget I’m the stubborn one?

Not the escape I expected.

Suddenly, time seems to stop and I’m standing in an imaginary desert place (though it feels real). I now stand outside in bright day-light and Marc stands facing me. I look down and notice a small dry crack in the earth between us.

When I glance up at his face again, he appears farther away. Immediately I look back at the ground and realize the gap is widening as we stand here.

What is happening? Why am I hot . . . am I really standing in the sun? 

Why should I have to join Marc and not the other way around? This is unfair.

Heads or tails?

I look to my right and two distinct versions of our future relationship materialize side-by-side.

One future fills my imagination with vibrant color and feeling. Marc and I stand together side by side. We are friends, partners, and lovers delving deeper into the mystery of this covenant of love we made to one another and to God.

The other pierces my heart with gloom. We sit quietly at a dinner table talking to our kids, but not each other. Like reluctant dance partners, we go through the motions of life, managing the duties and details of a vow we made years before.

I don’t want to manage love, I want to live in it and enjoy it!

I check the crack again and panic.

A step isn’t enough, I’ll have to leap it. How do I leap?

Back in the car on a cliff.

The visions end. Still parked in the White Tank Mountains, but feeling like Marty McFly navigating Hill Valley, scrambling back from the future to save my life and following generations! 

I know what to do, but it’s the one thing I’m most afraid of and vowed not to do: speak.

The only way to protect our covenant for the future is to take a leap of faith today—I will tell him what’s been going on inside of me—even though it scares me.

I don’t know where to start, but here goes . . .

“So this is how it begins.”

“. . .How what begins?”

“The crack that eventually leads to divorce.”

“Divorce!?! Who said anything about divorce!?”

“Nobody, I just saw a picture of it and I needed to leap to avoid it.”

“What does leaping have to do with avoiding divorce?”

“Everything.”

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After explaining the visions to Marc, I shared some ugly stuff. He was shocked my heart was in such a dark place, but how could he know until I told him. He was sensitive and thankful I ‘let him in’. We concluded the night agreeing whatever the future held, our desire was to navigate it together, no matter what.

Before we left the mountain, Marc had something to tell me, too:

It takes two. But how beautiful when two become one in and through Christ.

Only the Lord knew the depth of healing, restoration, and calling He would take us through during our years in the desert. This night on the mountain equipped us to leap in faith and keep leaping. And if a canyon ever does take form, Jesus is the great bridge-builder.

Mountaintops are definitely still for making out, but so much more!